The Storm

Its blowing:
the roots are starring at the sun
the leaves decaying for what?
the bees have no honey to hum
the fruits have withered and dried .

Its blowing:
the sky scrappers have bowed down
a desert of dilapidated walls created;
the dreams of life besieged in rubble
shriek of melancholy in the air.

The storm is blowing within
The Ark and the casket are with the wind
the flowers and fruits are seen nowhere

Awaiting the storm to blow again:
To grow my tree within
the buds to bloom and
for the bees to hum ;
the fruits ripe and bow.
Awaiting the storm to blow again:
To build the Ark and set to sail
carrying the bliss of life.

I wonder why
I am in the cycle of
Creation , preservation and destruction;
Creation, preservation and destruction ....